


Verba Volant, Ars Manent

by wintergrey



Series: Vade Mecum [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Art, Fluff, M/M, Morning After, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:19:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintergrey/pseuds/wintergrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Words fly away, art remains.</i>
</p><p>For Roane, who showed me this <a href="http://pidgeyons.tumblr.com/post/86610067948/its-body-paint">fanart</a> and introduced me to the friendly skies of Air America. Thanks also to the artist, <a href="http://samsteves.tumblr.com/">Samsteves</a>, for the inspiration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Verba Volant, Ars Manent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [roane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/gifts).



"What are you doing?" Sam is half asleep and the sun is so warm it actually feels heavy across his back, pinning him to the bed. A delicate touch tickles over his shoulder and raises ridges on his skin, like a chill in spite of the heat.

"Nothing." Steve sounds drowsy but he's been awake for at least an hour, if Sam's tracking time with any accuracy.

Turning to check the clock would mean Sam had to move, though, even if it is just his head, and he can't quite manage it. That touch comes again and it's not unpleasant, it's just new. A lot of things are new, though, like Steve sprawled naked beside him.

"Okay." Sam gives up because it feels good and he realizes belatedly that he's complaining about Steve touching him which is not only the last thing in the world he'd ever complain about but it's the thing he thought he'd never have until last night. "You good?"

"Mm." Steve noses behind his ear, then kisses him there. "Yeah. You?"

"Uhuh." One of them is eventually going to have to move to get coffee. "Tony makes robots, right?"

"Among other things." Steve sits up. His fingers tickle down Sam's spine, almost to his waist, then sweep up again before they get nearly low enough for Sam's liking. "Why?"

"Thinking I'll ask him to make me one that makes coffee."

Steve laughs at that, a sound as warm as the sunshine. "He has one of those. You don't want it."

"How come I don't want it?" Sam does turn his head then, dropping it back down onto his crossed arms once he's got an eye on Steve.

Captain America is buck naked in Sam's bed, not even a sheet over him now, cross-legged and looking down at Sam all spread out with an expression that's more thoughtful than lusty. Goddamn. He's almost shiny, gold with tones of pink, built like a living statue of Adonis. Even his feet are beautiful, rosy toes and pearly arches.

"It makes coffee all right," Steve says, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But it also tried to lead the other appliances in a coup to take over the kitchen. Bad enough when the microwave and blender went to the dark side but then it ordered the dishwasher to attack. Bubbles everywhere."

Sam's not entirely sure Steve isn't joking. He's seen some of Tony's work. "Seriously?"

"We dismantled it." Steve draws a feathery line down Sam's near arm, seeming almost hypnotized by following the motion of his own fingers. "And deprogrammed most of the appliances." He meets Sam's eyes with a look of pure innocence and honesty. "The toaster's never been the same."

"Fine, fine." Sam's laughing hard enough that he's fully awake now. "I'll make my own coffee. If only for the sake of the toaster."

"I can do that." Steve leans over to kiss him on the mouth. It's natural and unexpected at once, and then it's just plain good. Sam rolls over to get more of Steve's mouth and winds his arms around Steve's neck. "Of course, I'd have to get up to do it."

"I'll let you go if you tell me what you were just doing," Sam offers. The touches had been strangely relaxing. Steve's attention had been straight up surreal, to be honest. All that focus, all for him.

"Just... looking." Steve kisses Sam again, then pulls away, blushing.

"What?" Sam props himself up on his elbow as Steve gets up. "Hey, get back here." He holds out his hand, then beckons, until Steve comes back and takes it. "What?"

"Sometimes I see things I want to paint. And, since I didn't have any paint, I had to do it in my head." Now Steve's blushing hotter than the sunlight falling over them.

"There's some poster paint kind of stuff in the hall closet. I use it for art therapy days," Sam offers. He doesn't know what Steve's thinking but if he's that wound up over admitting it, Sam wants to know what it is. "Kid-safe. Non-toxic."

"I'll think about it. You stay in bed." Steve kisses him back into the pillows. "I'll make breakfast."

"As long as you stay naked," Sam bargains. He wants to pull Steve back into bed but lets him go instead. If Steve wants to cook him breakfast, Sam's not going to argue—much. "Because if it's me eating or you being naked, I take you being naked. Like, forever."

"What if I want to cook bacon?" Steve stops in the doorway to pout at Sam. "You want me to cook bacon in the nude?"

"You're Captain America." Sam tucks one arm behind his head as he admires the view. "You'll be fine."

"I should have brought my shield," Steve mutters on his way out of the room. Damn. As hard as it is to let Steve walk away, letting him go has its own reward. That ass.

Sam dozes until Steve comes back with coffee and eggs and toast—and bacon—on a tray in one hand. In the other hand, he's carrying the caddy with the paint and brushes that Sam mentioned.

"You found them." Sam sits up and shakes the covers out so Steve can put down the bed tray. "I half-expected you to hold out on me."

"After last night, you still think I'd hold out on you?" Steve gives him an arch look.

Last night. Sam can't think about that and breathe at the same time because, dear God, Steve has a point. No holding out about anything.

"I apologize," Sam says sincerely. "You wouldn't."

"No harm done." Steve sits behind him, kisses the nape of his neck and wraps an arm around his chest in a hug. Forgiven, and it feels so good. Sam turns his head for a kiss on the mouth and gets that, too. "Now eat your breakfast. You need your strength."

"That sounds promising." Sam picks up one of the mugs of coffee and drinks, then takes a bite of eggs. Cheese and hot peppers—perfect. "I note a lot of fat and protein here."

"Ideal for long term energy," Steve is sorting out the paints and brushes but he reaches over Sam's shoulder to grab a piece of bacon. "I don't want to wear you down."

"You're a good man, Steve Rogers." And he makes a damn good cup of coffee. "You better be careful, making coffee this good. I might keep you."

"My plan is working perfectly, then," Steve says with a quiet laugh that makes Sam's heart jump—for the contentment he hears in it as much as the words. That he makes someone like Steve feel that way is a thrill. "Don't move too much."

Chill, wet paint makes a line over Sam's shoulder. He closes his eyes as he eats, imagines that he remembers Steve's touches from earlier. The sensations are different but the patterns are the same.

Breakfast is gone and Sam is down to the last inch of cooling coffee in his mug. He's half-dozing, sitting up, perfectly content to stay still as long as Steve wants. He doesn't remember when he last felt so safe but he could get used to it.

"Done." Steve puts his brush aside and gets to his feet. "It's not often that I prefer the canvas to the painting, but... Come here." He offers Sam his hand as Sam is about to look over his shoulder. "Close your eyes."

Sam does has he's told, wincing a little at the ache in his legs from sitting cross-legged so long. Steve leads him across the room and into the bathroom, by Sam's calculations and the cool of the tiles under his feet, then turns him with his back to the mirror.

"Okay," Steve says. Sam opens his eyes sees Steve's face first, calm and serious. His 'I'm being honest with you, Sam' face that Sam got to see last night before they ended up in bed. "I can only paint what I see, but it's what I see when I look at you."

Sam looks over his shoulder, at his reflection in the mirror. It takes a moment for him to really take it in. Without thinking, he spreads his arms to see everything Steve's done.

Wings. White feathers shaded with gold and blue and pink are painted across his dark skin. Wings from his shoulders to his wrists to his waist, the feathers laid out so that, when his back flexes, they seem to move. Not just wings. Angel wings.

"That's what you see when you look at me." Sam's throat is tight. He meets Steve's gaze in the mirror.

"Every time," Steve says. His eyes are locked on Sam's and Sam sees his own surge of emotion reflected there. "In uniform or not."

Sam looks at himself in the mirror again, at his wings. At what Steve sees in him. It feels like flying with his feet on the ground.

 


End file.
